


Double-Pointed Needles

by idreamofdraco



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Disapproving Family, Draco and Ginny Fic Exchange, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Drama, Fic Exchange, HP: EWE, In-Laws, Knitting, Makeup Sex, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Sex, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Smut, Wordcount: 5.000-15.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2358479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamofdraco/pseuds/idreamofdraco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Narcissa visits Draco and Ginny at Malfoy Manor for two agonizingly long weeks, corsets are worn, gardens are tended to in the middle of the night, and socks are brutally mutilated as they are born. Draco's simple ruse turns into a not-so-simple case of insecurity for Ginny. What is a real Malfoy anyway?</p><p>Written for breereeves in the 2013-2014 DG Fic Exchange on LiveJournal and winner of the <b>Best Minor/Supporting Character</b> (for Narcissa) and the <b>Sweetest Fic</b> awards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cast On

**Author's Note:**

> I'll post the original prompt for this story at the end of the last chapter. Thanks so, so, so much to my beta, Ha'niqua, who is awesome. You should totally read all of her stories on FFN and the Fire and Ice Archive. u_u

“It’s only two weeks,” Draco groaned, his hand sliding up her naked stomach.

“Two—weeks!” Ginny said in between gasping breaths. “Too long.” A hand gently grasped her breast, and she let out a little sigh. “Far, far too long.”

His lips met hers with determination, which was how he always kissed her. Like he was trying to prove something to her, trying to convince her of something vitally important. She placed her hands on the sides of his face and pulled him away, both of them breathless, both of them wanting.

“Tell me again why we must abstain while your mother is staying with us?” she said, turning the command into a question.

“Dammit, Ginny. Don’t mention my mother in the bedroom. It’s such a mood killer.”

She laughed at the disgusted look on his face, but she didn’t let go until he answered her. His head fell, his attention distracted by her bare breasts and attentive nipples.

“Not yet!” she cried, laughing despite herself as she restrained him from placing his mouth where he—and she—most wanted it. “Answer me.”

“You can’t hide anything from her,” he said in exasperation. “We could silence the room and she would still _know_. And there’s just something wrong about having sex while your mother is under the same roof, knowing you’re having sex.”

She moved her hands from the sides of his face into his hair, permission for him to continue. As he sucked and laved her chilled breasts with his warm tongue, Ginny sighed again—in pleasure and disappointment.

“Two whole weeks,” she muttered. “Must we put on the act as well?”

Draco groaned again, this time not from passion. “Is this really the best time to talk about this?”

She ran her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. She knew how the gesture affected him and was pleased when she saw gooseflesh rise on his bare shoulders and back. She kissed the top of his head.

Sensing her unease, Draco sat up and pulled her up with him. He wrapped his strong arms around her body, and only then did her shivers cease. She hadn’t realized she’d been trembling until he’d stared down at her with his piercing, knowing gaze, but this was all she needed to feel better. Him. Just him.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted. “I wish she could believe that we’re happy the way we are.”

“We _are_ happy,” Ginny said into the skin of his pectoral. She placed a kiss there as well.

“But we’re not… Malfoys. Not the kind we’re supposed to be.”

“You’re worried, too,” she said, looking up into his face and seeing crinkled lines around his eyes and creases in his forehead just before he replaced the worry with something like determination.

“I just want her stay to go smoothly.”

“Two weeks,” she muttered again, absently running her fingers down his chest.

“Two weeks,” he agreed as he laid her back down, pressing her into the bed with his body.

For two weeks, they would have to act like real Malfoys. Ginny was only afraid that that was exactly what they would become.

* * *

Besides the occasional flip of a page as Narcissa and Draco read and the clicking of Ginny’s knitting needles, the fire crackling was the only sound that filled the room. Normally Ginny found the sound soothing, the silence a comfort, not a burden, but tonight, every noise echoed in her head. She was all too aware of her mother-in-law watching her out of the corner of her eyes, and, as a result, she couldn’t concentrate on her knitting. Not that she was very good at it to begin with, but Narcissa had asked to see some of her work. Since Ginny didn’t have anything to show, she’d promised to make something during Narcissa’s stay.

Why she had done this, she wasn’t sure, except that _real_ Malfoy women knew how to sew or knit or embroider. They probably also played piano, not Quidditch, and baked tarts and crème brulee for their husbands. Despite having a fantastic cook for a mother, Ginny had not inherited those kinds of domestic skills. The only reason Ginny had any idea how to knit at all was because of an interest she’d developed before she’d gone off to Hogwarts. Her mum always made the warmest clothes, and Ginny had wanted to learn her secrets. Unfortunately, she’d practiced the art less and less as the years had gone on, and now Ginny had to relearn how to make a simple sock. It didn’t help having Narcissa’s watchful eyes on her as she struggled with the yarn and needles.

Draco sat on the loveseat next to her reading the _Prophet_ as if the room wasn’t full of tension. She resented him a little for that, though she knew it wasn’t fair of her. Draco had grown up in this world. He didn’t have to pretend to be a Malfoy—he just had to pretend he wasn’t married to a Weasley. Ginny, however, only knew how to be herself, and the pressure to conform to a lifestyle that pleased Narcissa was a little too much for her. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for when she’d agreed to marry Draco two years ago.

It also wasn’t fair for Narcissa to show up out of the blue as she had. Ginny and Draco had been married for more than a year, and she’d never asked to visit them before. Not once. She’d never shown an interest in their marriage—at least, not that Ginny had seen. Perhaps she spoke more about her concerns in her letters to Draco.

Draco put the paper aside and studied Narcissa and Ginny, quickly picking up on Ginny’s unrest and Narcissa’s attention now that he was looking.

“How is Paris, Mother?” he asked, and Ginny was grateful for the diversion when Narcissa narrowed her gaze at her son instead.

“The same as always and hardly worth mentioning,” she replied, idly turning a page in her book.

“I find it hard to believe there isn’t some scandal or drama that one of your friends isn’t in the middle of,” said Draco.

Narcissa smiled at that, a slight, reluctant turn of her lips that showed more warmth than any expression on her face since she’d arrived earlier that morning. “You’re right,” she admitted. “Yvette Augustin—she’s the youngest sister of the French Minister of Magic—is engaged to a German man. A pastry chef, or something ridiculous like that. We’ve all been trying to talk her out of such a poor match, but she’s stubborn and doesn’t know any better. She’ll see soon enough, though, what a mistake she’s made.”

Ginny’s ears burned as she listened, and she tried to remind herself that Narcissa was living outside of her homeland, in place where she had few friends, while her husband sat in jail. She was rich and bigoted and didn’t know any better than to judge other people for ridiculous reasons and interfere in their lives.

If this is what wealthy and powerful ladies did with their money, Ginny wanted no part of it, and she hadn’t had any part of it until Narcissa had invited herself over for a two-week visit.

Ginny’s indignation made her robe feel more constricting than it already was, thanks to the corset that went with it. This wasn’t who she was. She didn’t knit, she didn’t gossip about her friends’ love lives, and she didn’t wear such impractical, uncomfortable clothes. Why she and Draco were going through with this fraud, Ginny didn’t know, but she loved her husband and she wanted him to have the kind of relationship with his mother that she had with hers, even if it was impossible.

Draco’s cheeks were tinged pink as he looked away from his mother; she could tell he was embarrassed. By his mother’s bigotry? Or by his own poorly matched marriage? Ginny wasn’t sure and she didn’t want to know.

“I’ll go fix some tea,” she said, rising from her chair and leaving her knitting behind. 

“Don’t be silly,” Narcissa said, waving Ginny back down into her chair. “Just let the house-elves get it.”

Ginny looked at Draco, who looked back with cold indifference. It was part of the act. At least, she hoped it was. Did she dare explain to Narcissa that they didn’t keep any house-elves? No. Real Malfoys had servants to fetch their tea; they didn’t make it themselves.

“No, it’s alright. I need to stretch my legs,” she replied, going to the door before either Narcissa or Draco could stop her. She avoided her husband’s gaze as she left the parlor, hating the cold look in his eyes, even though she knew it wasn’t real. She knew it.

Wandering down the corridors to the kitchens, she tried not to look too closely at the decor. When she’d moved in, she and Draco had redecorated, turning the dark, drafty manor into a home with rich, plush carpets, paintings, and photographs everywhere. The photographs had been stored in boxes, hidden from sight. Draco thought his mother would have disapproved of pictures of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ginny's brother Ron sitting in plain sight around the manor. Ginny had agreed, though she’d been sad to see the pictures go—especially the ones of Draco and her. The happy, laughing pictures of the two of them weren’t appropriate for the role they had to play, so they’d boxed those up as well and hidden them in a spare bedroom on the third floor.

As she passed through one corridor, she avoided the eyes of the portraits. The paintings she loved had been replaced with portraits of Malfoy patriarchs dating back to the 1400s. Their expressions were as dead as the men themselves, the colors of the paint dark and dulled with time. The older Malfoy men liked to leer at her and whisper lewd comments as she walked by. The more recent Malfoys glared and snarled about her blood traitor family. They were ugly and rude, and they made her feel unwanted in her own home. Whenever she walked down this corridor, she tried to ignore them.

Of course, they loved Narcissa. When she’d entered the manor, all of the portraits had paid her compliments, lamented the fact that she was no longer the mistress of Malfoy Manor, and spread lies and rumors about Ginny to her. As soon as Narcissa’s visit was over, Ginny would be first in line to throw those horrid portraits back into the attic where they belonged.

When she reached the kitchens, she took her time preparing the tea, allowing the whistling of the kettle to soothe her instead of irritating her. The warm steam from her cup reminded her of her mum’s tea and talks over the dinner table back at the Burrow. She drank two cups before Draco entered the kitchen looking worried.

“It’s just so hard to breathe in these robes!” she quipped with a forced laugh.

“Don’t do that,” Draco replied, a stern look on his face.

“Don’t do what?” she asked, avoiding his gaze to stare at her tea.

“Just talk to me.”

She couldn’t talk to him. She couldn’t tell him that after more than a year of happiness, suddenly—once again—she was questioning it all. He’d think she was being ridiculous, just like he’d thought she was ridiculous when she’d aired her concerns after he’d proposed. They’d just been so _happy_ , and she hadn’t been able to give it up for anyone. Not for his mother, who’d left him as soon as her husband was imprisoned; not for her friends, who’d thought she was making a mistake; not even for her own loving family, who constantly worried about her. She’d wanted him for _herself_ and now she felt foolish for wanting at all.

“We’re happy, aren’t we?” she asked, pleading with him with her eyes to answer the other question she couldn’t voice. _You accept me, don’t you?_

“Yes, of course,” he said, clearly confused. He approached her, and she turned to him, letting him wrap his arms around her tightly. “I love you more than anything.”

“I love you, too,” she said. She meant it, but was it enough?

* * *

Later that night, as she and Draco lay in bed, Draco put his arms around her and pulled her close, her back flush with his front.

“What happened to waiting until your mother left?” she asked breathlessly as he kissed her shoulder, his hand gliding slowly down her curves. Her skin prickled in anticipation, a swell of hunger and need rising and cascading through her veins.

“We are waiting,” he replied, but his hand suggested otherwise as it grazed across the band of her knickers, below her belly button.

She sucked in a breath and turned over to face him. “Remember when your mother said you only married me for the sex?”

Draco’s lips turned down in an exaggerated frown that made Ginny laugh. “I mean, she was right….”

She punched him in the arm, and he gasped in shock, more exaggeration. “Git,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t make me a git to know what I want and take it,” he replied, his eyes flinty.

“Sex?” The word fell out sarcastically as she rolled her eyes.

“No, you ridiculous witch. You.”

Then his lips met hers and Ginny forgot all about the day’s insecurities.

* * *

**TBC**  



	2. Knit One, Purl One

The next day, Ginny was determined to knit a decent sock. She went out to the gardens to focus and get some sunshine, missing the feel of the wind in her hair, the scent of the outdoors. It was the off-season for Quidditch, and her team was taking a month-long break in practices. This gave her nothing to do at home except entertain Narcissa, and since pleasing her was impossible, Ginny wandered outside to be alone instead.

Draco had disappeared earlier that morning to attend to something urgent at work, and she might have resented him for it just a tad. Narcissa still didn’t know that Draco worked for the International Magical Trading Standards Body within the Department of International Magical Cooperation. (He’d wanted to go into law, but people had been hesitant to put a Malfoy in a position where he could manipulate laws and influence the Minister, so he’d settled for trade instead.) No Malfoy in at least two centuries had had the need for employment, and Draco should have followed in that tradition. However, he’d seen that the value of a career lay not in monetary compensation, but in the relationships he built between himself and people at the Ministry, so he'd done the unthinkable.

His father was in prison and his mother had fled the country; that only left Draco to pick up the pieces of his family’s shredded reputation. It had become important to him, when he’d been alone after the war, to rebuild the Malfoy empire on honesty (as much as he could afford) and hard work (without resorting to physical labor). He'd just never gotten around to telling Narcissa about it.

Ginny grumbled to herself as she wrestled with her yarn. She wielded the needles with a lack of grace, and the yarn kept falling off and unraveling.

"I just don't understand why you insist on knitting," Narcissa said with a sniff.

Ginny jumped and her needles clattered to the ground.

She continued. "Embroidery would be a more sophisticated use of your time."

"Embroidery is purely decorative. At least knitting makes something people can use," Ginny spat as she picked up the fallen needles. A moment later, she remembered who she was talking to and glanced up cautiously. "I mean, I don't know how to sew, but I already know how to knit."

One of Narcissa's brows lifted in sardonic disbelief. "That's debatable," she said, eying Ginny's lumpy, shrunken sock.

Ginny felt her cheeks burn. "I just need to practice a little. I used to be a decent knitter. Somewhat."

“I suppose we’ll see.” She began to turn away and then stopped, a strange look in her eyes. “I’m going out for the afternoon to visit some old friends. Do let Draco know when he returns?”

“Of course,” Ginny replied. She hated lying to Narcissa, so she focused on untangling her yarn, too guilty to meet the other woman’s eyes.

Carefully, Narcissa said, “I was hoping to spend the day with him instead, but I suppose he made other plans. More important plans than his mother.”

She was fishing for information now, and Ginny wasn’t sure what to say. All Draco had told her to tell Narcissa was that he would be back soon, but he’d been gone for at least two hours already. He should have told his mother about his job instead of leaving his wife in the awkward position of making excuses for him.

Ginny looked up and smiled—she hoped the smile was convincing. “He didn’t tell me his plans either, so I hope that means he’s bringing home a surprise! Sometimes he’s spontaneous like that, and it’s the sweetest thing.”

“Hmph. Well, I’ll be back by dinner. Tell Draco that I don’t like surprises.”

As Narcissa left, Ginny identified the look that had been in her eyes. Distrust. Narcissa sensed the false note in their charade. The realization made Ginny’s stomach cramp because the last thing she needed was for her mother-in-law to figure out the lie after all the effort they’d put into it.

As soon as she was sure Narcissa had left, Ginny went upstairs to change her clothes from the highly restricting robes she was currently wearing into something loose and grubby. Then she went back to the gardens, past the bench she’d been sitting on earlier, past the fountain where the peacocks liked to bathe, all the way to the back. She and Draco had replaced the finicky flowers that needed lots of attention for shrubs and fruit trees that required a little less attention, and the plot of land in the back of the garden housed the fruits and vegetables to which they devoted their time. Special care was taken to fertilize the soil, protect the crops while they were growing, and then harvest them when they were ready. Malfoy ladies might have grown flowers as their special hobby, but Weasley women liked to put their hands in the soil and pull out a feast.

Draco found her there a couple hours later, dirt smudged on her gardening robes and face, a pile of carrots and potatoes beside her.

“Ginny, what—”

She looked up, and she knew she looked like a naughty Niffler sitting in a hole in the middle of the parlor floor. Draco just knelt down next to her, frowning in disapproval.

“You were at work and your mother went out,” she explained as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped dirt off her jaw. “I got tired of failing at knitting.”

Draco shook his head, but he seemed to be struggling with a smile.

“What?” she asked defensively. “Ladies can tend gardens, Draco.”

“Yes,” he replied, taking his handkerchief to her nose now. “But real ladies use magic to keep from getting dirty.”

“Well, if they’re so worried about getting dirty, maybe they should keep cacti instead of roses.”

“ _We_ don’t even keep roses, darling.”

She waved away his meddlesome hand and pulled out her wand. “You know what I mean.”

He followed her as she levitated the potatoes and carrots back into the manor. “What would my mother say if she saw you looking like this?” he asked, a reprimand in his voice.

“Probably, _‘Oh, Ginevra. I don’t see why you insist on gardening. Embroidery would be a more sophisticated use of your time!’_ ”

That brought out the smirk Draco wore while trying to suppress a laugh. “Has she already said that to you today?”

“Today, last night. I’ll probably hear it again when she sees all the progress I’ve made on my knitting since she’s been out. Oh, by the way, she asked where you were, and I told her you were going to surprise us.”

“But she hates surprises.”

“Yes, she told me to tell you that. But now you need to come up with one to explain why you were gone all morning.”

In the kitchen, Ginny began to wash off her harvest, and Draco rolled up his sleeves to help her. They lapsed into silence, the sound of the running water and their scrubbing filling the kitchen. They often spent their afternoons just like this—working in the garden after work and practice, and then fixing dinner together with whatever they’d reaped. Draco usually did most of the cooking while Ginny offered whatever assistance she could along with the pleasure of her company. Sometimes dinner got delayed because he enjoyed her company a little too much and forgot about the pots sitting on the stove or the pan in the oven.

“It’s times like these I almost wish we had a house-elf,” Draco said, his smile turning the comment into a joke.

“I like to do things myself sometimes, without help or magic,” Ginny replied.

His smile turned into something more serious. “I know.” And then after a moment he added, “Me too.”

Ginny couldn’t help her own lips from turning up at that. The Malfoys had had their house-elves stripped from them as repercussions for the war—the Ministry hadn’t wanted Draco and his family to have any sort of power over other living beings if at all possible. Draco had had to learn, quickly, how to take care of himself and survive on his own. Narcissa certainly hadn’t been around to help him, either. She didn’t even know the man that Draco had become since then.

“You’re the only help I need,” she said, focusing intently on the potato in her hands. Yet, she could still feel Draco’s gaze on the side of her face, and when he placed a gentle kiss on her temple, she looked at him, pleased and surprised.

“I could say the same for you.”

* * *

By the fourth day of Narcissa’s visit, Ginny was ready to get back to Quidditch training, which wouldn’t resume for another two weeks. She’d resorted to sneaking out to the garden a couple hours after Narcissa retired for the night to check on her crops. With her hands buried in the soil, dirt under her fingernails, impractical robes replaced with a less restrictive garment, she felt relaxed for the first time all day long. As soon as she woke up every morning, she had to remind herself of the day ahead, steel herself for Narcissa’s passive aggressive judgmental remarks, and numb herself to Draco’s cold indifference. But at night, with a slight breeze blowing through her free-flowing hair, her hands occupied in the damp dirt, she could be herself and she didn’t have to pretend for anyone. It was almost as good as flying a broom, anyway.

At breakfast the morning of the sixth day, Narcissa swept into the dining room and sat down across from Ginny.

“You will have to entertain yourself this morning, Draco. Ginevra and I are going shopping,” she announced as she blithely buttered her toast.

“We are?” Ginny asked.

Draco shot her a reprimanding look. “That sounds lovely. I think Ginevra needed some new dress robes for the Notts’ party next Saturday.”

_Ginevra_. Draco hadn’t called her Ginevra since before they’d started dating, when he’d done it strictly to annoy her. _Ginny_ must have been too common a name to speak in front of his mother, so now she was made to feel like a little girl being scolded every time he mentioned her.

“That was just what I was thinking!” Narcissa said.

Ginny watched her throughout the rest of breakfast, wondering why she seemed so happy today. It couldn’t be because of the prospect of spending time with Ginny. Narcissa had never shown any pleasure where Ginny was concerned at all, from the day she and Draco had announced their engagement to the present.

Narcissa ate a quick breakfast and then stood up. “Don’t dawdle. We have a busy day ahead.”

Ginny stared after her as she left the room, and then she turned her gaze to Draco, who shrugged, confused as well.

They left half an hour later, each of them Apparating to Diagon Alley and arriving in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Ginny had to steady herself against a wall to compose her breathing. Disapparation was already uncomfortable enough, but to squeeze herself in and out of nothingness while wearing a corset? She clamped her mouth shut to keep herself from vomiting afterward.

Narcissa hardly seemed to notice. “I think we’ll start with Madam Malkin’s,” she said as she took off down the alley.

Ginny sucked in a deep breath and followed until she and Narcissa walked side by side.

In Madam Malkin’s shop, Narcissa made it her goal to outfit Ginny in the most fashionable (meaning the least comfortable) robes. Draco hadn't been lying about the Notts' party in three days, and Ginny supposed Narcissa didn't want to be embarrassed by her daughter-in-law if she could help it. Narcissa, too, helped herself to something beautiful and decorative for the party, and Ginny thought about what a waste of Galleons their clothing was. Did they really need that expensive lace on the sleeves? What was the point in hand-sewn crystals decorating the bodices?

At least while they were in the shop they didn't have to speak much. Narcissa was too busy talking about fabrics and shapes and colors with Madam Malkin to bother Ginny, which was a relief, honestly. She had nothing in common with Draco's mother, with her interests or her life, and the less they spoke to each other, the less likely it was that Ginny would accidentally reveal the ruse.

The biggest test of the charade so far appeared as they were leaving the shop.

“Ginny!” a voice called behind them.

Ginny froze, recognizing the voice immediately. She should have ignored it and carried on, but she’d already stopped in the middle of the road, and Narcissa was turning around to see what was holding her up. So Ginny turned, too, to face Harry, who had called her name, along with Ron and Hermione.

Ron laughed. “What’s that you’re wearing? Going to a fancy dress party, are you?”

Narcissa returned to Ginny’s side, her nose held high. “Ginevra?”

“Oh, we’re interrupting you. Sorry! We’ll let you go,” Hermione said, grabbing hold of Ron and Harry’s arms and pulling them away. Bless Hermione for noticing when company wasn’t wanted.

And damn Ron for being obstinate. “What? I can’t say hello to my own sister? It’s not like I haven’t seen her in ages!”

“She’s busy, Ron,” Hermione hissed.

“Yes, I’m busy right now,” Ginny replied, lifting her chin and glaring down her nose at her brother and friends imperiously. It was a bit difficult to do since all three of them were taller than her, but the message must have come across loud and clear.

Ron’s face showed dawning realization, and Harry looked from Ginny’s grim expression to Narcissa and back again. “Yeah, let’s get out of here, mate.”

But Ron, stubborn as usual, had to have the last word. "Will we see you Saturday at least?"

Ginny froze, and she didn't know what kind of expression she wore. Of course she would see them on Saturday. They'd all been invited to Theo and Luna's party, but how did she explain their presence there to Narcissa? She was certainly expecting a sophisticated, high-class affair—and it would be exactly that. But Narcissa wouldn't see the playacting and mockery in the charade. Theo was throwing the party because he had the money to, and everyone was dressing up for the sake of it. It was something he did every year for his birthday, and this year the celebration would be even bigger with a baby on the way, too.

Remembering that she'd been asked a question, Ginny shook herself out of her thoughts, forced herself to put on a mask, and said as hatefully as she could, "I should hope not! We don't associate with people like you."

The three of them stood there, shocked by her response, and Ginny hated herself for it—maybe even Draco, too, for making her behave this way.

As the boys turned away, confused and hurt looks on their faces, Hermione said with an embarrassed smile, “Sorry for bothering you, Mrs. Malfoy. Ginny.” She said Ginny’s name with a raised eyebrow, one that said, _We demand an explanation later._

“The nerve of them!” Ginny muttered furiously while they were still within earshot. Ron looked back at her, his uncertainty now anger. Ginny had to clench her fists at her sides to keep them from shaking. She hadn’t meant to hurt them, but a _real_ Malfoy wouldn’t be friends with Harry Potter, Muggleborns, or blood-traitors.

Narcissa glanced down at Ginny’s hands and then back to her eyes. “Indeed,” she said, but Ginny had the distinct feeling that she hadn’t bought Ginny’s act.

What the hell was a real Malfoy, anyway?

* * *

**TBC**


	3. Knitting in the Round

"Can you please go to sleep?" Draco groaned, flopping around to bury his face in his pillow.

"I can't," Ginny said through clenched teeth. "I'm just so frustrated!"

"You can work on your sock tomorrow. We both need sleep. Tomorrow is Theo's party, remember?"

Ginny ignored him, focusing instead on the damn sock she'd been trying to knit for almost a week. Her needles clicked loudly in the silence, but Ginny could barely hear them over the grinding of her teeth.

"Don't you get it?" she asked as she yanked more yarn out of the tangled ball. "I'm _frustrated_. It's been six days. Six long days."

She didn't see the recognition cross his face, but she knew he understood her meaning when he rolled over and sat up. Out of the corner of her eyes, his hands reached for her and then pulled back. Reached, pulled back.

She threw the knitting down on the bed in disgust and made a sound to accompany the gesture, her hands grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him to her. As soon as she made contact, his body kicked into gear, no longer hesitating. Their lips caressed and soothed, and Draco's arms wrapped around Ginny like a vice until he'd pulled her onto his lap, his erection pressed urgently against her core. She whimpered, and he groaned as his hips jerked up and she rocked against him.

His lips soothed her burning flesh, and her fingers warmed his.

"No, we can't," Draco said against the skin of her neck.

"Why the hell not? We're married, not dead. This is our home. What does your mother expect from us?"

"Too much," he answered as he slowly pulled away.

A lump was growing in her throat, making it harder for her to swallow properly, and her eyes burned with angry, frustrated tears. She slid off Draco's lap, back to her side of the bed. As if nothing had happened between them—though, dammit, she wish something _had_ —she picked up her knitting and went back to work at a less frenzied pace than before, this time distracted by her body and heart's throbbing.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly but firmly, in that tone that said he refused to be sorry at all.

She blinked as hard as she could, trying to stop the tears from leaking out. Her heart was still racing, but now in disappointment. "You should be."

Minutes passed in which she worked on moving yarn from one needle to the other and he sat in silence, watching her sock take lumpy shape. When she felt suitably in control of her voice, she said, "We shouldn't go to Theo's party tomorrow."

"Why not?"

"All our friends will be there. How can we possibly keep up this act in front of them?" she asked.

She hadn't told him about the encounter with Harry, Ron, and Hermione while she and Narcissa had been out shopping that morning. Ginny had been too embarrassed by her behavior towards them. Truthfully, her desire to skip Theo's party had less to do with sticky situations that could alert Narcissa to their ruse and more to do with not wanting to face her brother and her friends again. They would require explanations for her actions, and she had none that they would accept. This farce she and Draco were putting on made little sense. How could her friends possibly understand why they were doing it when Ginny didn't understand herself?

"You know my mother refuses to miss it."

"How did she see the invitation anyway?" Ginny groused.

"It was sitting out in the open. Maybe you should have put it away," he snapped.

Ginny bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Is this what their marriage had become? Too many arguments about nothing and not nearly enough sex?

"I think I'll go to sleep now," she said. As she put her knitting in a basket next to the bed, she used nonverbal magic to turn out the lights, and then she made herself as comfortable as she could under the duvet, her back to Draco.

She felt his hand touch her shoulder, but she shrugged out from under it.

Didn't he see what this ruse was doing to them? Was his mother more important than their marriage?

* * *

The next morning, Ginny left breakfast as early as possible without speaking a word to either Narcissa or Draco. She retreated to the parlor with her knitting, determined to finish her sock before Theo’s party later that night. First, she pointed her wand at the piano in the corner, and it began to play a soothing melody by itself. Taking a few deep breaths, she focused her attention to the needles and each stitch. After about half an hour, she started to get the hang of it, picking up a comfortable rhythm that required little concentration.

She was so absorbed in her work, she didn’t hear when Narcissa entered the room.

“What is that awful noise?” she asked, distaste clear on her face.

Ginny jumped, startled by the interruption, and looked around in confusion. “What noise?”

The other woman gestured at the piano. “ _That_ noise! I can hardly hear myself think!”

Ginny rolled her eyes at her sock, not daring to do such a thing to her mother-in-law’s face. “It’s my favorite song by the Weird Sisters,” she said. She’d asked for Hermione’s help to find a spell that would charm a piano to play rock songs, but when Hermione had turned her nose up at the request, she’d found the means herself. She’d even impressed Draco with the product of her search, but Ginny knew Narcissa couldn’t appreciate the effort if she didn’t agree with the results.

Narcissa _hmph_ ed and crossed her arms, but Ginny ignored her, which must have irritated the woman to no end. Ginny could see her body becoming more stiff, her lips turning further and further down in a scowl. Narcissa wasn't the kind of woman to bring attention to her irritation; instead, she became completely still, like a snake preparing to strike.

“If the sound bothers you so much, you could use a muffling charm on your bedroom door,” Ginny said, never losing track of her knitting.

"If I cared that much, the music would not be playing at all. I came in here because I can't find a single house-elf. I know they're not supposed to be seen, but this is ridiculous. You haven't given them a holiday or something ludicrous like that, have you?"

That caught Ginny's attention enough to make her lower her knitting, and she didn't care that she was supposed to be pretending. The woman's selfishness was infuriating. "We don't _have_ any house-elves, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Excuse me?"

She should have held her tongue, but she couldn't. _She couldn't._ She couldn't control her emotions or her actions when she remembered how Draco had struggled to survive in a Malfoy-negative, post-war world, completely alone and fragile, even though he'd never shown that vulnerability to anyone. She couldn't control herself when she thought of her parents and brothers including Draco and making him feel welcome (even if it had some taken time to reach that point) when his own family was so fractured. He'd had no one on his side until Ginny had made her family his, her friends theirs. He tried to pretend that he never needed anyone's support, but she knew better. She knew.

"If you'd stayed in the country long enough after the war, you would have known that all of your house-elves had been confiscated by the Ministry. The Malfoys were banned from ever having them again."

There was a challenge in the statement, and Ginny half-expected Narcissa to feel embarrassed by the accusation.

Instead, Narcissa stared Ginny down, almost as if calculating whether Ginny was telling the truth.

"Who has been preparing the meals, then? Who keeps the manor tidy?" she asked.

Ginny sighed, and it almost sounded like a huff of frustration. Had she really expected this conversation to go differently?

"Draco does most of the cooking. We both clean the manor ourselves."

Narcissa frowned and looked away. "Ridiculous." Then she stormed out of the room, and as disappointed as Ginny was, she couldn't stop a grin from lighting her face.

* * *

As always, Theo's party was full to brimming with attendees, food, alcohol, and dancing. For the first half-hour, it had been easy for Ginny to avoid friends like Harry, Ron, and Hermione while speaking to acceptable ones like Blaise Zabini, Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson.

Ginny began to sweat when Theo and his lovely wife approached to greet them.

"Ginny," he said, his arms stretched wide and a smile of disbelief lifting his lips. "Look at you! You went all out this year! I've never seen you so bejeweled."

She forced an uncomfortable laugh to hide her nerves. "Oh, please. Narcissa was the designer behind the dress. I'm simply her mannequin for the night."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Theo said, turning his attention to the other woman. He took her hand and bowed over it, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "You look lovelier than ever."

She'd been staring at Luna through narrowed eyes, but now she smiled. "You flatter me, Theodore. How are your parents?"

As Theo captured Narcissa's attention, Ginny sidled closer to Luna. "You look radiant," she said softly. She couldn't contain her smile as she took in Luna's appearance.

Even though she'd married into wealth, Luna never dressed to show it off. Tonight she wore a soft, lilac gown that bared her shoulders and hugged her pregnant belly. The topmost layer of the dress was so gauzy, it made Luna look like she was floating, and when she turned to greet people, the material floated out and up, like an upside-down flower twirled between a child's fingers.

"It is rather warm in here," Luna said. "Theo won't dance with me. He thinks I'll combust."

Theo, having tuned in upon hearing his own name, became attentive once more. "No, darling. I didn't say you'd combust. I said you'd _give birth_. Those have two completely different meanings."

Luna rolled her bulbous eyes, and her hands fluttered to her stomach. "Don't be silly. The baby isn't even clicking yet. She'll let me know when it's time for her to come out."

Theo put an arm around Luna's waist and pulled her close. "Don't you mean kicking? She's been kicking for months now."

"No," Luna corrected. "I meant clicking. Kicking and clicking have two completely different meanings, you see."

Theo smiled even wider than before, amused and so clearly in love with his wife. "Yes, I do see," he said.

Ginny had to look away from their display. At the moment, Draco was somewhere else in the room mingling with other people. They still weren't speaking to each other, mostly because Draco thought she was being childish and Ginny just wanted him to understand. Seeing Theo with his arm wrapped around Luna, claiming her, accepting her for exactly who she was, left a bitter taste in Ginny's mouth. If Narcissa hadn't been there, Draco would have been at Ginny's side, too. They would have been sharing adoring glances, dancing, and laughing together. It made her sick that they had turned into this, and she hated being jealous of her friends.

"Congratulations to you both," Ginny said, her eyes stinging. “How much longer?”

“Any day now,” Theo replied, beaming with pride. “But hopefully not today. I’d rather not have a baby on the ballroom floor.”

“It would be auspicious if we did,” Luna said, which made Ginny laugh. 

There must have been something strange about her laugh because Theo's brows scrunched together. "Ginny?"

"I'm just going to go get something to drink," she said, blinking furiously as she fled into the crowd. She hadn't looked at Narcissa's face as she turned away, but she knew there would be disapproval there, not concern. The only concern Narcissa had was for herself and her family's reputation.

"Oi, Ginny!" Ron called as she tried to dodge past him. "Hey!" he said, grabbing her arm to stop her.

" _Don't_ put your hands on me, Ronald Weasley!" she cried. Her outburst earned them some stares from people, so she took a step closer to Ron to contain their conversation.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I just want to know what that was at Diagon Alley yesterday. You didn't have to talk to us that way."

He sounded sincerely hurt, but Ginny couldn't think about that. Narcissa was looking at her—always looking at her—so Ginny straightened her spine.

"I'll speak to you however I like. We aren't even in the same category, you and I."

"Oh, really," Ron snarled. "What category are you in, then? Last I checked, the same woman gave birth to us. Didn't know money made you better than me!"

She had to hide her stricken expression. Steeling her resolve, she shot one more glance at Narcissa, and then said, "Well, it does. You and your friends shouldn't speak to me for the rest of the night."

The skirt of her voluminous dress robes hit Ron in the legs as she turned on her heel and left. She didn't look at any of the people she passed, didn't say a word to anyone; she just needed to get outside, _now_. She needed air and space.

Once she found them, they weren't as comforting as she'd hoped. She took deep gulps of the warm night air, but she still felt like she couldn't breathe. Her damn corset only bound her lungs tighter, leaving less room for breath.

"Ginny?" The voice was hesitant and completely unwelcome at this moment when she was breaking down.

"Not now, Harry," she said, gasping. Without facing him once, she took off into the maze of hedges that made up the Notts' garden. Of course, because it was Harry, he followed after her.

"What's going on with you?" he asked as he trailed her. "Why are you pushing everyone away?"

She wasn't sure if it was the lack of oxygen in her brain or pure exhaustion, but she told him the truth. "I have to."

"Have to?" Harry asked.

She steadied herself on a statue, carefully placing her hand on Agrippa's stone legs instead of his crotch. It would have been the first one she'd touched in a week. When she finally looked at Harry, miraculously, breathing became easier, a calm spreading through her whole body.

"Draco asked me to pretend to be a real Malfoy wife while his mother was staying with us," she said as she met his gaze straight on.

She used to think about how much easier her life might have been if she'd stayed in love with Harry, but then she remembered it wouldn't have been easier at all. Loving Harry, being Harry's wife, would have come with a different set of challenges. Harry needed someone who would let him save her, and Ginny wasn’t that witch. She preferred to save herself. She preferred someone who would challenge her in turn, instead of completely deferring to her for the sake of peace. That someone had been Draco, and she’d never regretted her choice.

"I don't understand," he said. Of course he didn't. Ginny hardly did herself.

"We're pretending to be the people Narcissa wants us to be. We wear fancy clothes; we look down on people who don't have as much money or status as us." She laughed then, a self-deprecating, cough-like sound coming out of her mouth. "We even pretend to have house-elves. Narcissa was so shocked when I told her we don't have any, she just ignored me. Pretended she hadn't even heard."

Harry took a step closer, his brows slanting over his nose in confusion. "Why are you doing this?"

Desperate for him to understand, Ginny took one of his hands in both of hers. "Because I have to! He's my husband, and I love him. I have a family, Harry, and he doesn't. If he wants to try to please his mother, who am I not to try with him?"

His warm hand landed on her shoulder, and he gave a comforting squeeze. "But look what it's doing to you."

"Oh, you can tell? Draco doesn't know, he doesn't _see_ — "

"Draco doesn't know what, pray tell?"

Standing in the light from the door stood Narcissa, arms crossed and a scowl marring her perfect face.

"Nothing," Ginny said, letting her hands drop as she stepped guiltily away from Harry. She didn't address her mother-in-law or her friend as she returned to the party. Honestly, the less she spoke, the better.

* * *

Draco found her in the one place that gave her solace these days: the garden, trowel in hand, soil staining her expensive dress robes.

"Ginny," he said, but she didn't acknowledge him. Instead, she stabbed the trowel into the ground, savagely scooping dirt up and shoveling it into a bucket next to her. _"Ginny,"_ he said again. "I will not abide by you ignoring me."

That finally got Ginny's attention. She stood up, and she knew she looked a frightful mess. Her hair was in disarray, there was soil all over her hands and under her fingernails, and her new robes were probably ruined.

"I don't _care_ what you will abide by, Draco Malfoy," she said in a seething voice. The trowel was pointed at him threateningly, and he took a step back from her. "You don't talk to me like that. I am your wife, not your child, and you never would have talked to me like that before this week!"

Draco's eyes widened slightly in shock. He took a step toward Ginny again, and she wasn't sure if that made him brave or an idiot. "Put that away," he said calmly, but it was still a demand, and it made Ginny bristle.

Still, she threw the trowel down, a surge of magic shoving it hilt-deep into the soil. She held up her empty hands sardonically, but she was anything but helpless.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Gardening," she replied with a sneer.

"My mother isn't even in bed yet, and you're ruining your clothes." He was approaching her again, but warily this time.

“You might be able to ignore the garden for two weeks, but I can’t.” Her fists clenched at her sides to keep them from shaking, her nails digging into her palm keeping her in control of her tears.

He must have heard the accusation in her voice because he paused, his foot falling mid-step. 

“What’s this about?” he asked.

"What do you think this is about? A garden needs attention and love. You can’t just put it aside for two weeks; by the time you come back, you've already lost the crop. And you might be able to save it, but it won’t be as ripe as it would have been if you’d just given it the care it needed when it needed it.”

“I see,” he said, and Ginny could hear the way his jaw clenched. “Is this about the garden or about you? Merlin, Ginny, we’re halfway done with this thing. Can’t we… can’t you just…”

“What?” she asked, snarling. “Do you want me to just ignore everything? Pretend everything that we have and that we are doesn’t exist for the sake of your mother, a woman who hasn’t acknowledged us in over a year?”

“Can’t you just put yourself aside for two weeks while we get through this visit?” he asked, exhaustion in his face while anger filled his voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if she were a child he didn't know what to do with.

The gesture made Ginny stumble where she stood. When had he grown so tired of her that he couldn't see her side of this situation? Suddenly the man in front of her was a stranger, someone completely unfamiliar to her. They had been happy once. Why weren't they anymore?

“Some things can’t survive two weeks of neglect,” she replied, holding herself together as much as she could. She wrapped her arms around herself. “You can’t make a rose out of a cactus.”

“I thought cacti had more resilience.”

This time Ginny didn't stumble. Instead, she took a step towards Draco and then another one, until she realized she was fleeing.

At the door to the manor, she looked back at Draco, her expression stricken, her heart sick with pain. "When you married me, I thought that meant you wanted a cactus, Draco, but if anyone's a cactus right now, it's you. I can hardly get close to you anymore."

But he only looked back at her with the cold mask of impassivity he'd worn for so long after the war. The one she thought he'd taken off and packed away for her.

* * *

**TBC**


	4. Grafting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first legit foray into smut-writing. 6_6 If smut isn't your thing, you can read down to the line "He needed no other encouragement than that" safely, and then skip down to the last section of the chapter to avoid the smutty bits. No idea if this is supposed to be rated Explicit now or if I should just leave it at Mature. ???

For the next two nights, Ginny slept in a spare bedroom, though 'slept' probably wasn't the right word for what she did. Instead of sleeping, she stayed up until dawn obsessively knitting sock after sock. Most of them came out misshapen and irregular, and these she burned with her wand in the fireplace. She refused to stop until she had a decent, matching pair, but she couldn't maintain the calm and rhythm she'd discovered in the parlor days ago.

She came out of her new room for meals and to tend to the garden, but she avoided her husband and mother-in-law as much as she could and hardly spoke to them when forced to endure their company. She kept her eyes downcast, ignored every statement or question Draco sent her way, and left the table as soon as she'd finished her meal.

She wasn't happy, but she was stubborn.

On Tuesday afternoon, the tenth day of Narcissa's visit, she heard Draco's voice out in the garden and she stopped at the door, hesitating. She shouldn't have let Draco's presence change her plans, but even as she was considering returning to the garden later, she heard Harry's voice.

"Listen, mate, Ginny told me what you guys have been doing for your mother's sake."

Ginny froze, mentally kicking herself for saying anything to Harry, who was the type of man to try to help his friends if they were in trouble. He couldn't sit idly by if there was something he could do to fix a problem.

"So?" Draco said. Ginny couldn't see his face, but she knew exactly how it would look. His lips would be stretched into a thin line, his nostrils slightly flared, his eyes hooded dangerously. Even in that one syllable, she could tell that he was moments away from snapping.

"So? So can't you see what you're doing to Ginny?" Harry asked, sounding frustrated.

Ginny turned sideways, leaning as close to the door frame as she could without any part of her body becoming visible. She wished she could see what was going on, but she knew both men so well that it wasn't strictly necessary to witness the conversation unfolding.

"What I'm doing to her?" Draco asked. "I asked her for a favor, and she said she'd do it. Now she's acting like—"

"Insane, right? She's acting insane. Because she thinks you don't love her the way she is."

There was a moment of silence. Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest, she held her breath in the hopes that she would be able to hear better.

"What are you talking about?"

Here she imagined Harry rolling his eyes, maybe ruffling his hair in exasperation. "How long is she supposed to pretend to be the wife your mother wants?"

"Only a few more days," Draco snapped.

"No, Draco. Do you expect her to play this role every time your mother visits? What if next time she stays for a month? What if she moves back to England? How far does this act extend? When does it stop being an act and become a full-time position?"

More silence as Draco considered what Harry had said. Then: "I didn't—I never thought—"

"No, and neither did Ginny. She did this for you, but can't you see how its affecting her? She had to look down her nose at her brother and friends just to impress your mother. Don't you see why that would bother her?"

"She's such a Gryffindor," Draco said, not unkindly, rather as if he’d forgotten. "She wears her emotions on her sleeve like a badge. How could I ask her to hide them? And I'd refused to listen to her when she tried to talk to me about this." 

There was something aching in his voice that made Ginny's heart pang. She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her forehead against the wall.

"I'm sorry I involved myself. After Theo's party, I couldn't—"

"Don't worry about it," Draco said, more composed now. "Let me show you out."

Ginny jumped away from the wall, looking for a place to hide. She dove behind a tapestry just as the men walked through the door, but she knew it was the most ridiculous place to hide. She smacked herself in the forehead with her palm, berating herself.

Suddenly, the fabric was pulled aside and Ginny looked up at Draco, one of his eyebrows arched and his mouth turned up in amusement.

"Er, I'll just let myself out, then," Harry said, inching himself back toward the entrance.

"See you later," Draco replied. His eyes never left hers, but as soon as they were alone again, he grabbed her hands in a gentle hold and pulled her out from behind the tapestry.

"Draco, I—"

He silenced her with his lips, warm and soft but so, so determined and insistent. He dropped her hands and grasped the sides of her face, clinging to her like he hadn't in over a week. When Ginny’s knees wobbled, she grabbed the front of his robes to keep herself balanced. Then she slid up on her tip-toes, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck, a moan inadvertently leaving her lips. 

"Oh, Ginny," he groaned into the skin of her shoulder.

"It's okay," she said, trying to pull his head back up to meet her kiss.

He pulled away, putting space between them without letting her go. "No, it's not," he said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think."

"It's okay," she assured him. "It's fine."

"No," he disagreed again. "I'm going to make this right." He looked around the corridor before pulling her into a room—a sitting room they never used.

Confused, Ginny eyed the sheet-covered furniture, which was hard to make out in the dark. "What are we—oh!"

Draco pushed her against the door, his body pinning her to the cool wood. " _Colloportus_ ," he muttered near her ear.

A shiver of anticipation traveled through her as the distinct sound of a lock clicked behind her. The shiver escalated to a tremble when she saw the excited look in Draco's eyes.

"I was an idiot and a prat. Mostly, I was wrong," he said. "Let me make it up to you."

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes please."

He needed no other encouragement than that.

She stood stock still—tense, even—as he took a step back, his fingertips trailing down her arms, leaving chills in their wake. His hands went straight to his cravat, untucking it from his silken robes and sliding it off his neck with sharp impatience.

Ginny’s hands went to the grubby hem of her gardening robes, pulling the garment up and over her head in one swift motion. Her husband’s fingers froze over the buttons of his own robes, his eyes wide and hungry as they roamed her body.

“Looks like you need some help,” she said, closing the space between them with two purposeful strides.

He let her bat his hands away as she took over the task of undressing him, but while she did so, he touched her like Ginny had only dreamed of being touched for the last ten days. His fingers were blazing hot where they pressed into the skin of her back, sliding down to cup her bum, eliciting a gasp from her and a strangled moan from him.

The heavy pounding of her heart matched the staccato rhythm of her breathing as she threw herself at Draco, her mission to unclothe him forgotten for now. Her blood sang in time to the beating in her ribcage, desperate for his closeness, frantic for his skin on hers.

The force of her made him fall back onto an ottoman with Ginny sprawled in his lap in an awkward tangle of arms and legs though neither of them cared. She hardly seemed aware of herself as her lips grazed his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin and the musk that had always belonged to Draco. While she mindlessly kissed and licked, she was all too cognizant of the carpet underneath her knees, the way Draco arched down over her, wrapping around her so her mouth could reach his face. Even his erection, hidden as it was underneath his now rumpled robes, demanded a piece of her attention as it pressed into her stomach. Her mouth was at the perfect level…. If she pulled his robes up, if she leaned down a little more….

“No,” Draco said, firmly grasping her hands and pulling her away from his body. “Not like this.”

“Yes,” she disagreed with a hurt hiss. “Just like this.”

When he stood up, he tugged her up with him, and then before she could say a word, he removed his wand from his pocket. With a silent gesture, every stitch of his clothing disappeared as well as Ginny’s knickers. Her mouth ran dry and her knees weakened at the sight of his smooth, tight torso sparsely coated with a smattering of fine hair. His erection stood at attention, unashamed and bobbing.

He drew her back to a covered armchair, but how he made it without tripping over his own feet, Ginny had no idea. As he took a seat, her body positioned between his knees, he was enthralled by her puckered nipples, and when his lips closed around one, it took all Ginny’s will power to remain standing. He alternated between kissing and sucking, the softness of his kisses alleviating the sensory overload from his tongue and his teeth. Ginny’s breath raked out of her, heavy and unsteady, the same way her legs felt. Only Draco’s hands latched behind her, holding her up as he pressed kisses down her stomach, kept her on her feet.

Her head fell back with the contented sigh of someone dying of thirst taking their first drink of water. The delicious feel of her hair tickling the skin of her lower back combined with Draco’s lips nipping lower and lower down her stomach turned her sighs into gasps. The gasps became groans when he slid off the chair onto his knees to better reach and taste her slit. Just as they had on her breasts, his innocent kisses quickly evolved into hard pulls and long strokes, his tongue at once sliding through her folds and then teasing the sensitive bud of her clit. Sensation radiated from the spot and spiraled out, white hot and furious in its pleasure, and Ginny was left trembling from her fingers to her toes.

“Draco!” she cried as she doubled over, her hands falling on his shoulders for support. She could _feel_ him smirk against the inside of her thigh, the git. Her knees shook so violently, they threatened to collapse, but instead of pulling back, Draco nudged her legs further apart, and then his hands at the backs of her thighs pulled her in, beckoned her closer. Who was she to refuse?

He drank her in, lapping at her folds and sucking on her clit until it was swollen and so sensitive, the pleasure made her feel painfully full, as if she could burst out of her skin at any moment. Heat tore through Ginny, and as her body burned, Draco’s skin also became slick with a fine sheen of sweat. When she wasn’t so focused on her own arousal, she noticed the signs of Draco’s: the way his fingers dug into the strong muscles of her thighs, just under her bum—the flush underneath his skin, tinting his cheeks with a rosy color not typically seen there—the minute trembling of his arms and shoulders, and, when he came up for air, his haggard, unsteady breathing.

Ginny placed a hand on the top of his head, stroking his hair as he stroked her with his tongue, and when the pleasure finally reached its peak, her fingers spasmed and dug into his platinum blond locks, grasping onto the only anchor she had as every nerve ending in her body erupted and the floor rocked like a ship at sea. Through her climax, Draco held her steady, his kisses taking and tasting every jerk of her hips. When the waves of pleasure calmed, Ginny found herself draped over Draco’s shoulder as his hands massaged the backs of her thighs, his fingertips just brushing the lips of her core.

Her whole body quaked with aftershocks until her knees finally gave out and she fell into Draco’s lap. His arousal twitched between them, but he ignored it as he climbed unsteadily to his feet, Ginny’s legs locked around his waist as he stood. Then he fell back into the armchair again, her legs straddling his lap, his cock a whisper away from the very place both of them wished to feel it buried.

Still, he ignored his own arousal to grasp Ginny’s face and pull it to his. She’d always sensed a desperation in his kisses, and this one was no different, as if he needed to prove to her how much he loved her. Draco had never been a man for sentimentality; his actions had always spoken louder than his silence. Narcissa may have thought lust had driven them to marry, and while sex with Draco was good—so good—Ginny knew that the way he made love to her was proof of his feelings for her. She felt his affection in every careful touch, every aching moan, every desperate kiss and cry and plea. When the affection had stopped on Narcissa’s behalf, Ginny had felt dry and empty, like an abandoned well, long forgotten.

Draco kissed her now as if she were the air he needed to breathe. He liked to say that she had ruined him the first time he’d kissed her, but Ginny knew it was she who had been ruined.

She tasted herself on his lips and her body was wracked with the most violent shudders yet. She surged up onto her knees, lifting herself off Draco’s legs, and then reached for his swollen shaft, the velvet-soft skin hot against her palm. Draco’s breath caught, and his whole body stiffened, his grip tightening on her waist. He burned in her hand as she stroked the length of him, her thumb running over the tip of the head at the end of each pull, making his breath hitch and his hips jerk.

“Just like this,” she said against his lips as she positioned him at her entrance.

She could tell by the quivering of his arms how close he was to losing control—and how securely he reigned himself in. Even as she lowered herself over him, enclosing him in her slick heat, he held back, his fingers digging into the sides of her hips, unwilling or unable to move. Ginny sighed, and then she moved her hands to his shoulders, running her fingers teasingly down his arms and back up again.

“You don’t have to hold back anymore,” she said. “Don’t worry about your mother.”

His jaw clenched. “Dammit, Ginny. What have I said about mentioning my mother in the bedroom?”

Ginny’s lips lifted into a predatory smile and she leaned closer to him, placing a soft kiss on his nose. “We’re not in a bedroom.” She rose up again slightly, gasping at his thickness inside her, and his whole face drew into a tormented expression, his brows knitting tightly together, his eyes fluttering closed, his mouth falling open as he gasped with her.

This time when Ginny lowered herself back down, his hips rose to meet her. Her breathing rasped out as his pelvis ground against hers, a jolt of ecstasy electrifying her every nerve.

“I’ve fucking missed this,” Draco hissed through clenched teeth.

Ginny had missed it, too, but she couldn’t respond in kind. Every time she slammed down on his cock, she rocked against him, stimulating her clit all over again and leaving her breathless. It didn’t take long for her blood to feel thick and sluggish in her veins, and even the frantic racing of her heart couldn’t pump it fast enough. 

Draco’s hands left hot goosebumps where they mapped her skin, stroking down her thighs, tracing her curves, massaging her breasts until Ginny’s blood no longer felt thick—it boiled. His lips trailed kisses from her chest up to her mouth and across her jaw, and even as Ginny found it increasingly difficult to concentrate due to the abundance of sensations coursing through her body, Draco still managed to keep up the relentless pace of his hips slamming into her. 

Only his hands and lips could assuage the compulsion under her skin, the itch that grew with every thrust of his hips. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, not just to support her shaking body, but for the feel of his skin against hers. 

“Oh, Merlin,” she cried. “Oh… _fuck_ —”

Her orgasm hit like a Bludger to the head, but she felt as euphoric as if she'd caught the Snitch. Her body tensed tight as a bow, every limb quivering as waves of searing bliss overwhelmed her senses. Her eyes were closed, but a bright white light scorched her eyelids.

With a savage groan, Draco’s hands returned to her hips, steadying her as he bucked into her with wild jerks, each plunge stronger and more erratic than the last. Ginny's heart beat against her sternum as if trying to free itself, but even in her own overwhelmed state, she knew exactly when Draco's release hit him by the way his fingers dug into her, undoubtedly leaving imprints behind. He thrust his hips once more—twice more—and then his back arched, his pelvis tilted, the chords of his neck drew tight, and his breathing grew into haggard gasps. She ran shaky fingers through his hair while his climax tore through him, caressing and stroking his face, his shoulders, his chest, until the sensation passed enough for his body to relax again.

He kissed her hard, crushing their lips together the same way their bodies were pressed together, as if they were one being fusing back together, as if a hole had been sewn closed. When they pulled away, Draco still couldn't let go and instead rested his forehead against hers, still trying to catch his breath. Ginny was aware of his fingers buried in her hair, tying him to her as if unwilling to release her.

She was fine with that.

"Apology accepted," she said as she giggled, the sound coming out lower and more relaxed than she'd felt in over a week.

Ginny didn't realize she'd begun to cry until Draco wiped her tears away with his thumbs. She had no explanation for them, but none was needed.

"For the rest of my life, I won't allow anyone to stand between us again," Draco promised with a gentle kiss to both of her cheeks where her tears had fallen.

"You're just saying that because the sex is good," she replied, her eyes fluttering closed.

His laugh was dry and deep. "No, I'm saying it because you are."

Then they put their mouths to better use as their hands warmed each other's chilled skin once more.

* * *

Later, Draco pulled the sheet off the armchair and covered their bodies to defend against post-coital chill. They’d moved from the armchair to the chaise and finally to the floor, where they laid together in an exhausted heap.

“Lucky this carpet was here,” Ginny commented as she snuggled into his side.

He wrapped her in his arms, rubbing the skin of her back to generate more heat. “This carpet has been in the family for nearly four hundred years. We just defaced an ancient family heirloom.”

“Oh please,” she replied with a snort. “Like no one in your family has had sex on this rug before.”

He turned his head to eye the rug beneath them warily, his face etched with lines of disgust. “I’d really rather not think about it, actually.”

Ginny shrugged and laid her head on his chest, sighing in contentment.

“I’m sorry for being such a loon this past week,” she murmured.

The hand on her arm grasped her gently, prompting her to look up at him. His eyes were serious, his mouth turned down unhappily. “Please, for the last time, none of this was your fault. It was mine.” An expression she couldn’t name crossed his face, and then he sat up, pulling her with him.

“I have an idea,” he said.

As he laid out his plan to her, she remembered why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place, despite all the odds against them.

* * *

**TBC**


	5. Darning

The next afternoon, Ginny sat in the parlor knitting perfect socks, her focus returned now that she’d—er—let off some steam. She didn’t really have a need for all the socks she’d knitted so far, but she figured they’d make nice Christmas presents for her teammates, family, and friends.

Merlin, she was turning into her mum.

Draco stood at one of the floor-length windows, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. His hair reflected the sunlight, giving the impression of a halo. The stuffy dress robes he’d donned for the last ten days remained in his closet upstairs, wearing instead a more casual set without vests or cravats, something he’d have worn before Narcissa had decided to visit.

Ginny, too, had thrown her corset into the back of her closet (though she’d really been tempted to burn the damn thing) and replaced her fancy, impractical robes for the Muggle clothes she was more comfortable wearing. Her legs were thrown over the arm of her favorite armchair, the other arm supporting her back as she worked needles and yarn into a discernible shape.

Narcissa entered the room, her luxurious robes a better fit for the parlor than Ginny’s clothes. No wonder the portraits answered to her; she looked more like the mistress of an ancient magical property than Ginny did.

But Ginny _was_ the mistress of the manor now, and it was time for everyone, including Ginny, to accept it.

“What is this all about?” Narcissa asked. It was hard to tell what her mood was, but she was a Malfoy, and as Ginny knew well, Malfoys knew how to hide such unimportant things as emotions, expressions, and moods.

Draco turned, the corners of his lips lifting into a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you with my summons,” he began. Half an hour prior, an owl had delivered a message from Draco to Narcissa’s bedroom window asking for a meeting in the parlor. It was a strange gesture when both parties resided in the same building, so it wasn’t an irrational conclusion that she might have been alarmed. “Ginny and I have something to tell you,” he continued.

At that, Ginny sat up straight in the armchair, planting her feet firmly on the ground. If she’d thought about it, she would have realized she was preparing for a battle by putting herself in a less vulnerable position. Even her hold on her knitting needles tightened.

Narcissa merely looked from Ginny in her chair to Draco standing on the other side of the room. Her eyes lit up in satisfaction, and she surprised both Ginny and her husband when she said, “No need to tell me anything. I understand completely. And, I must admit, I saw this coming. It was just a matter of time.”

Clearly thrown off guard, Draco stepped away from the window. “It was? You knew?”

Narcissa seated herself on the loveseat where she could see both Ginny and Draco. “Of course I knew. Ginevra wasn’t discreet, was she? Weasleys don’t have any subtlety.”

Ginny met Draco’s eyes, but he looked as confused as she felt. She sat up a little straighter, her knitting forgotten. Maybe Narcissa had spotted Ginny gardening and suspected her attempt to be a high-class lady was an act.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” Ginny said.

“You can’t hide anything from me,” Narcissa replied, her nose turned up a little higher. “Especially when my son is involved.”

Draco came to sit on a settee, creating a triumvirate in a stand off. “We didn’t mean to deceive you.”

 _“We?”_ she said in outrage. “I hardly blame you, dear. The deception was all hers.” She jerked her head in Ginny’s direction, unwilling to even look at her daughter-in-law.

“What?” Ginny cried. “How is this my fault?”

Finally, Narcissa did look at Ginny, but with more derision than she had ever seen on the woman’s face. “Well, how is _your_ affair my son’s fault?”

 _“Affair?”_ both Draco and Ginny repeated. _“What affair?”_

“Don’t try to deny it! It’s plastered all over the _Daily Prophet_. You didn’t even try to hide your shamelessness!”

Ginny and Draco’s gazes met, but neither of them knew what she was talking about.

“Explain,” Draco finally commanded.

“Yes, Ginevra. Please explain to your husband how you’ve been going behind his—”

“No, Mother,” he interrupted as he stood up. “ _You_ explain. Where did this idea come from?”

Narcissa looked from her son’s impassable expression to Ginny’s bewildered one and back again. For a moment, she looked uncertain, but that moment passed, and her eyes became steely once more.

“Like I said. I saw it in the _Daily Prophet_. Your _wife_ and Harry Potter!”

It took a moment for that to sink in, but then Draco started laughing, and once Draco began to laugh, Ginny couldn’t help herself to start either.

“Harry is just a friend!” she said between guffaws.

“I saw you together!” Narcissa cried. She stood up, outraged at being laughed at. “I saw you at the Notts’ party! You were alone together; you were holding his hand! How do you explain that?”

Ginny’s laughter stopped as abruptly as it started. Honestly, she’d been shocked to hear the accusation—that’s why she’d laughed in the first place—but she didn’t appreciate anyone commenting on her marriage negatively, and for this woman to come into their home and make ridiculous accusations, after more than a _year_ —no, she wouldn’t accept it.

“We’re friends,” Ginny said, anger tinting her tone. “That’s all we are. That’s all we’ve been for years, and we’ve never hidden our friendship from Draco.”

Narcissa looked to Draco, who mirrored Ginny now, with tight lips and an angry V in his brows.

“We’re all friends, Mother. I’d believe Ginny and Harry were having an affair about as much as I’d believe you were having an affair with a Muggle.”

“Oh, Draco, don’t be vulgar,” Narcissa replied with a disgusted scoff. She sat back down, and Draco took his cue from her, sitting back down on the settee.

“The papers are always trying to make it look like Harry and I are back together,” Ginny explained. “He’s still single, and apparently I’m the girl who broke his heart. Any interaction we have is going to be misconstrued, but there is no truth to that trash. It’s just an easy way to attract readers and make money. Draco and I have gone over this. He knows there’s nothing between Harry and me.”

Draco nodded in confirmation, which made Narcissa pouty.

“Then what did you want to speak to me about?”

“Wait,” he said, ignoring the question. “Did you come here because you thought Ginny was cheating on me?”

Instead of looking embarrassed, as Ginny would have in her place, Narcissa merely stiffened her spine, her pride visible in every hard line of her body and face. “I came to see if there was any truth to the rumors, and I must admit, everything I saw confirmed them.”

Ginny felt her heart racing in her chest, thinking back on the last eleven days and what Narcissa could have seen, but everything they’d done they’d done in secrecy.

“Like what?” Ginny asked, almost afraid of the response.

Narcissa sneered at her. “I’ve never seen two people less in love in my life. You can barely stand to be in the same room with Draco, always leaving meals early and going off by yourself. And the way Draco speaks to you, as if he completely disapproves of you. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you slept in different bedrooms the last few days, either!”

A part of Ginny wanted to laugh—the urge was so strong, she put a hand over her mouth and tensed her body to quell the rising hysteria. She and Draco had worked so hard to be a conservative, upper-class couple, never allowing a single inappropriate display of affection to be visible to Narcissa. The lack of affection and the pressure had built up and strained their relationship. They’d spent most of the week arguing about the act, and that tension had leaked into the ruse as well. In fact, they had been so believable, they’d convinced Narcissa that they didn’t love each other at all.

Draco’s face was a portrait in pain and sorrow that no one else would have recognized. She correctly interpreted the tightness in his jaw, the wrinkle in his forehead, and the unforgiving glint in his eyes as the emotions he rarely displayed. Just because he didn’t express it didn’t mean he didn’t feel guilt for his behavior the last several days.

He reached a hand out to Ginny, and she put her knitting down to join him on the settee. They sat close together, their hands clasped tight.

“That wasn’t what it looked like,” he said.

“Oh? Then what was it?”

“This is why I asked to see you,” he replied, his eyes meeting Ginny’s. She offered him an encouraging smile, and his gaze returned to his mother.

Ginny spoke up for him in his discomfort. “It was all an act. We were… _pretending_ , you see, because… well….”

“Because I thought you wouldn’t accept us. As we are,” Draco finished.

Narcissa’s pride had gradually turned into befuddlement, the angry creases in her brow softening into confusion. Her scowl transformed into a perplexed frown. “As you are?”

“We’re not like you and Father,” Draco tried to explain, and it was clear it was difficult because his reasons for the ruse were so absurd. He hadn’t had to face the absurdity of them, truly face them, until now. “We mingle with the likes of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, and mixed-blooded people. We get our hands dirty taking care of the manor and its grounds ourselves. We don’t keep servants. In fact, we’re not allowed to have them. Both of us work, though I assume you know about Ginny’s Quidditch career if you’ve been keeping an eye on us through the papers. And I have a full-time job at the Ministry, working in trade. We’re not the people you expect us to be.”

“You know nothing of my expectations,” she snapped. She stood up, her body absolutely vibrating with energy that Ginny had never seen in her before.

“What I expect from you is to guide this family down a straighter path, which would be impossible if you got caught up in ridiculous dramas. You mustn’t get on the Ministry’s bad side again. You mustn’t allow public opinion to shape what this family becomes.”

She had been pacing, but now she stopped, her eyes boring into Draco and Ginny, still sitting on the settee, both gobsmacked.

“When your father went to prison, I moved to France to give you the opportunity to shape the Malfoy image yourself, without our influence to taint your reputation. You haven’t disappointed me— _yet_. I came back to see if this marriage was falling apart, and if it was, I wanted to be here to guide you through it with as little bad press as possible. Do not make assumptions about my motives or expectations!”

Ginny knew her own eyes were wide in shock, but Draco next to her was still as stone, his face expressionless like one of the marble statues in the garden. When Narcissa sat back down, collecting herself with deep breaths and clasped hands, their eyes followed her.

“I didn’t know,” Draco finally said. “You never told me.”

“Neither did I,” Narcissa responded, a bit sadly, but with a tinge of stung pride. “You never talked to me about your marriage.”

“I didn’t want you to judge us,” he admitted.

“And I didn’t want to pressure you into making certain choices. I wanted to give you the chance to make your own decisions.”

Moments of tense silence passed as all three of them considered what they’d learned. Draco and Ginny looked at each other, almost conversing privately with their eyes. They were so attuned to each other that they knew exactly what the other was thinking without the use of such magic as Legilimency.

Ginny released Draco’s hands and stood up, approaching Narcissa to sit next to her on the love seat instead.

“Draco and I love each other very much,” she said, her cheeks red with embarrassment about the whole misunderstanding. “We’re happy together. I’ve never been happier.”

Narcissa sniffed. “Does your family accept your marriage?”

Ginny smiled. “Oh, yes. My mum loves to have Draco ‘round. She likes to feed him because she thinks he doesn’t eat enough. And my brothers, well….”

“What?” her mother-in-law snapped, concerned.

“Well, Draco usually has to keep his guard up around them. They’re always embarrassing him, especially with pranks.” Ginny laughed, and she knew Draco was frowning at her for over-sharing, but she ignored him. She leaned in conspiratorially and lowered her voice. “At Christmas, they invited Draco to a pickup game of Quidditch, but they used a joke Snitch that George sells in the joke shop. It turns invisible unless it’s near the opposing team’s Seeker. My brothers won five games in a row until Draco finally caught on. Harry thought it was hilarious, but I was furious and didn’t speak to George or Ron until the next morning!”

Narcissa didn’t laugh, but her lips might have turned up a bit in a reluctant smile. “I suppose… that’s good to hear.”

Before Ginny could consider the consequences of her actions, she threw her arms around Narcissa in a tight hug, whispering, “I’m so glad to be a part of your family.”

The woman’s body froze, but she patted Ginny’s shoulder awkwardly in response before pulling away and standing.

“I think we need some tea.”

* * *

Draco and Ginny accompanied Narcissa down the drive to the gates. It was an exceptionally warm day, but the crisp breeze signified autumn’s swift arrival, which meant Quidditch practice would start up again soon.

The last three days of Narcissa’s visit had been surprisingly pleasant. The woman herself was still as she ever was, proud, hard to please, and prejudiced, but she had loosened the tight reign on her control for the rest of her stay. She hadn’t completely loosened up, of course, but just enough that she’d shown her affection for Draco in ways he hadn’t experienced since the war. It was a small change come late, but he soaked up her warmth as if he’d been cold his entire life.

Watching them together, especially Draco’s reactions to Narcissa’s love, had almost broken Ginny’s heart. He’d spent years trying to pave his own way through the world, part of him—and, to be honest, part of Ginny as well—believing that Narcissa had left England because she hadn’t wanted anything to do with her son. But after her revelation, they both knew now that what she’d done she’d done for him.

For much of the last few days, Ginny had felt superfluous in their joy, but she held no resentment towards Draco this time because he was earning back the love he’d missed for so long. And when Ginny was included in their conversations, or when Narcissa reached out and touched Ginny’s hand, she felt extra privileged to be a part of their family.

They weren’t perfect, and they had a long way to go to repair the rift between Narcissa and Draco, as well as Narcissa and Draco and Ginny as a couple, but it was a start. For so many years, Ginny had wished for Draco to have a family like hers, one that was loving and supportive, and it was just as much of a dream come true for her as it was for him that he was finally receiving that love and support again.

Now the visit was over, and as happy as Ginny was for Draco, she would be glad to have her home back.

When they arrived at the gates, Narcissa reached up to hug her son and kiss him on the cheek. Ginny smirked as he flushed in embarrassment. Then Narcissa turned to Ginny, her face composed and serious.

“Until next time, Ginevra,” she said.

“Christmas. You must come back at Christmas,” Ginny said.

Narcissa’s eyes widened a bit, but then she sniffed. “Yes, perhaps. I will have to check my schedule.”

“Oh!” Ginny cried, reaching into the pocket of her cloak. “I almost forgot. Um, here, I knitted these for you.” Her cheeks and ears burned as she handed the other woman a pair of pale blue socks that matched Narcissa's eyes with silver ‘M’s embroidered on the sides. “It’s silly, and the embroidery is awful,” she said, mumbling in her awkwardness.

Narcissa took the socks, eying them carefully. “No, they’re… lovely. Thank you.” She put them away in her handbag, and Ginny released a sigh of relief. She’d half-expected the woman to throw them on the ground for being too common.

Then Draco opened the gate and let his mother through. With a final wave, she Disapparated, and he closed and warded the gate behind her.

They held hands as they walked back to the manor in silence, but upon entering the hall, they sighed, and Ginny even giggled a little. All their old paintings and photographs had been rehung. Sconces and lamps lit the corridors as they passed through them, shedding light and warmth on the once cold and dark manor.

“What do we do now?” Draco asked as they reached the stairs.

“I suppose we have to tell our friends we don't really hate them,” Ginny answered, a worried crease in her brow.

“That's not what I meant,” he said with a smile. “What do we do _now_?”

Her mouth spread in a wide grin. “Oh. Well, anything we desire, I suppose.” 

He couldn’t help but smile in response to her. “What do you desire?” His hand untangled from hers to snake up her arm to her back.

A thrill of excitement radiated out from her pounding heart to the tips of her fingers and toes. He always had that effect on her, but especially when he looked at her the way he looked at her now—like he had something to prove.

“You,” she replied, pulling him to her by the front of his robes. “The only thing I need is you.”

He smirked and dropped his head to her lips. “Funny, I could say the same for you.”

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  **ORIGINAL REQUEST:**  
>  **Briefly describe what you'd like to receive in your fic:**  
>  **The tone/mood of the fic:** I’d like it to be light-hearted, but show the difficulty for DG to be traditionally domestic  
>  **An element/line of dialogue/object you would specifically like in your fic:** Ginny knits  
>  **Preferred rating of the the fic you want:** Slightly naughty (If you’re feeling adventurous you can go extreme with it, but no worries if you don’t)  
>  **More canon, or more AU?** More cannon  
>  **Deal Breakers (anything you don't want?):** No Ron blow ups. Avoid using “ferret” or “Red” or “Weaselette”  
>  **Are you willing to receive art instead of a fic?** I’d prefer fic.


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